


Choice

by squit (orphan_account)



Series: Ambient [2]
Category: God's Own Country, God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Imaginary coniferous forest fragment of the Pennines, M/M, Mushrooms, Unrealistic forest walk, october 2017, pine, probably unhygenic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 18:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/squit
Summary: Gheorghe and Johnny in the woods.





	Choice

It starts when Gheorghe asks what’s in the woods adjoining the fells.

“What’s what in the woods?” Johnny replies, confused. “Nowt but trees and squirrels.”

“Have you been in there? It might be interesting.”

And now they’re wandering through the woods instead of going back to the house for a proper sit-down dinner and the possibility of afters.

The woods are alive with the myriad sounds of tiny life; insects, birds and tiny mammals scurrying out of sight as Johnny stomps along, followed by the far quieter footsteps of Gheorghe.

“What are we looking for?” He snaps, slapping at a fly that’s landed on his forearm. 

“We’re just looking,” Gheorghe says, his eyes sparkling. “Who knows? We might get lucky.”

It’s impossible to stay upset with Gheorghe so merry, so Johnny abandons it and asks, “lucky how?” 

“We find something good to eat,” replies Gheorghe, overtaking him and making for a patch of pine indistinguishable all those they’d passed the last half-hour.

“Like what, blackberries?”

Ahead, Gheorghe’s on his knees and digging for something, using his hands to push away the accumulated leaf litter. 

“Mushroom, look!” 

Johnny catches up and looks. It’s a fat red-brown thing, the size and shape of a large bun on a squat stalk. 

“What’s that?” 

“It's an edible mushroom. I think you call it porcini?” Gheorghe is sliding his fingers around the base of the mushroom, giving it a gentle half-twist, and lifting it up. “There will be more, help me look.”

Gheorghe hands the mushroom to him to examine, taking off his thin jacket, zipping it up and turning it inside out to fashion it into a makeshift collecting bag.

Johnny looks at the puffy, dirty, velvety thing in his hand, and sniffs it. It smells like fungus and wet earth.

Gheorghe is wandering round in an ever-increasing spiral, watching his feet. He finds another one, the cap much smaller, almost the same diameter as the stalk. He leaves that one alone, saying to John in passing “we leave that one for later.”

John looks around, sceptical of the deliciousness of porcini but wanting to humour Gheorghe.

He finds a cluster of brown parasol-shaped mushrooms growing out of a mossy mound and goes to get Gheorghe, who has accumulated another three porcini in the meantime, the newest one he’s picked nibbled by little rodent teeth. 

Johnny sticks the one he’s holding onto the jacket Gheorghe holds out for him and points out the mushrooms he’s found. 

“Not these,” Gheorghe says, after a closer look. “These will make you sick.”

Johnny feels a little discouraged. He wanders off a short distance, towards a fallen tree that looks as if it might have mushrooms and a place to sit.

There’s another little cluster of mushrooms just visible from where he sits, hidden under a thick fall of pine needles. These are orange inverted parasols, nothing like anything he's seen so far.

Johnny figures he can wait for Gheorghe do his thing, and when he’s done Johnny can show him these probably poisonous orange mushrooms.

“Oh, there you are,” Gheorghe says, coming up to him, smiling sweetly, arms cradling his bounty. “I couldn’t see you behind the tree.” 

“Did you do this a lot in Romania?” Johnny asks, unable to look away.

“Yes, since I was a boy,” Gheorghe replies, setting his jacketful of mushrooms down and sitting down next to Johnny. “We would sell them at the market.”

Gheorghe smells like pine resin and fresh sweat. His body is a warm press against Johnny’s right side.

“What did Deirdre give us for lunch?” Gheorghe asks.

Johnny rummages in the bag he’s been lugging around all day. There’s some buttered sliced bread, a few hard-boiled eggs, a twist of paper that turns out to be salt, and two cans of fizzy pop.

“What will you do with the mushrooms?” Johnny asks once he’s swallowed his mouthful of bread.

Gheorghe thinks, picking the last bits of shell from the egg he is peeling. He hands the peeled egg over to Johnny before he says, “I think fried in butter with salt and pepper. Garlic if we have it.”

Johnny dips his egg in salt and eats it, considering. The mushroom did not smell very promising, but maybe it’s a Romanian thing. “Nan won’t like it.”

“She might. I am sure Martin will.” Martin has been most appreciative of Gheorghe’s occasional forays into the kitchen, usually when Deirdre is away running various errands.

It’s nice and cool in the woods, sunlight dappling between the pine boughs. The tops of the pines are swaying a little more than they should, rocked back and forth by a flock of red crossbills, filling the air with their bright chirping.

Gheorghe knocks his boot against Johnny’s and says, “this is nice, no?”

“I saw more mushrooms over there,” Johnny says, instead of answering. “They don’t look like anything we’ve seen so far.”

“Where?” Gheorghe asks, brushing bits of shell and breadcrumb off his lap. 

It’s not useful to say ‘that pile of pine needles’ in the middle of a pine forest so Johnny gets up and goes to brush the needles aside, exposing his find to the light.

Gheorghe grabs his shoulder. “These are excellent. Very good mushrooms.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” A shy smile. “These are my favourite.”

Gheorghe bends down and takes the lot, closely examining the underside before putting them away carefully. He keeps a little one out, reaching into his back pocket for his field knife. He cuts a little sliver, popping it into his mouth, making a pleased sound in his throat.

“Would you like to try it?” He asks, cutting another sliver, putting the rest of the mushroom and his knife away. “It is better after cooking, but I used to be too greedy to wait.”

Johnny looks at the little shred of orange in Gheorghe’s hand and agrees, a little hoarsely. 

Gheorghe puts the piece of mushroom into his open mouth, right on his tongue. It’s pungent, a little bitter, crunchy and yielding at the same time. 

It’s not bad. 

“How is it?” Gheorghe says, coming close to him.

Johnny’s reply is a stuttered wash of air against lips. “O-okay.”

It tastes much better in Gheorghe’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon Gheorghe is a god of nature.


End file.
